


My Halcyon Love

by thymogenic (orphan_account)



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Jane Austen Book Club (2007), Wilbur Wants to Kill Himself (2002)
Genre: Cuddling, Doctor/Patient, Fluff, Group Therapy, Intense Sweet Lovemaking, M/M, Making Out, Mentions of attempted suicide, Psych Hospital Romance, Rare Pairings, Slow Burn, This is Just Going to be Really Sweet Okay, hannigram AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8049544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thymogenic
Summary: Set after the events of 'Jane Austen Book Club' and 'Wilbur Wants to Kill Himself', this story has Grigg visiting an elderly relative in Scotland, when a baffling misunderstanding suddenly lands him in Dr. Horst's care.





	1. Dr. Horst is Done For

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by my beloved Llewcie! Thank you as always for your time and guidance!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is pretty much self-explanatory.

* * *

 

I thought the Train would never come —   
How slow the whistle sang —   
I don't believe a peevish Bird   
So whimpered for the Spring —   
I taught my Heart a hundred times   
Precisely what to say —   
Provoking Lover, when you came   
Its Treatise flew away   
To hide my strategy too late   
To wiser be too soon —   
For miseries so halcyon   
The happiness atone — 

_Emily Dickinson, 1449_

 

 

* * *

 

Sounds of a furiously fast scribbling pen reverberate through a small medical office set into the end of a long corridor on the Psychology and Neurology Department Floor of a somewhat aged and dingy Scottish hospital. A strong hand adorned with thick, winding veins, earned through years of concentrated study and work, guides the writing implement along as it peeks out from the white cotton of a doctor's lab coat sleeve. The pauses between written sentences are punctuated by an occasional dry cough, itself earned through years of frequent and heavy smoking.

The writing continues on and on in an almost unintelligible handwritten cursive, distinctive of doctors used to writing very quickly. Its scratching din is minute yet determined, like the movements of centipede legs up a papered wall...

 

 

 

> _Grigg H., 34 year old male. Admitted September 13th 18:15._
> 
> _PTA pt. suffered sec DB to the L hand from handling a plugged-in laptop computer while in the bathtub, and fell as a result. Approx. 2 minutes after the incident, the patient's great aunt discovered him in the bathtub, unconscious, but not completely submerged, and holding the appliance, wherein she dialed emergency services. The pt. was brought to the hospital to be treated for the burns to his hand and to examine if there was any further trauma incurred in the incident. The pt. was found upon admission to have suffered a minor concussion, appearing to have been caused by blunt force trauma to the back of the head from the edge of the tub. After treatment, at the request of the patient's relative, he was referred to P &N to r/o possible attempted suicide. The pt. was secluded for 3 days observation. After he was determined to not be a threat to himself, he joined daily group therapy sessions with similarly afflicted patients. In every session, the patient consistently denied deliberately attempting to take his life, calling the incident an 'accident'. The patient did not demonstrate any abnormal affect, and was observed smiling and joking appropriately with other patients and therapists._

 

The hand and pen stop moving. Dr. Horst closes his saturnine eyes crowned with strong brows, and his usually sullen, though, undoubtedly beautiful, mouth curves into something pleased as he recalls the patient in question, Grigg, smiling and laughing in group for the past four days. His positivity had been infectious. A cynosure at every meeting, due not only to his flowing, happy energy but also to his smoldering good looks.

Dr. Horst thinks then of Grigg's tanned skin. His lovely mouth shaped like that of a mischievous cat. Brown curls enclosing an as yet youthful face. Aquamarine eyes that shone with honesty and optimism.

Everyone had taken an immediate liking to him, and listened rapturously as he often went off topic to ramble on about science fiction novels and working in the tech industry. It had been a long time since observing these sessions had caused the psychologist anything but gloom, so it pained him slightly to have to always interrupt Grigg and steer him back to the main issues at hand.

And now, he is finally getting around to properly charting for him in preparation for their one-on-one appointment scheduled in just an hour. Grigg had had time with some of the other therapists during his initial admission and subsequent assessments, but now it was Horst's turn, and he was set on getting to a real diagnosis and treatment plan for this patient… _especially,_ this one. He gets back to writing.

 

 

 

> _After some persuasion, though, the pt. admitted to several recent events in his life which could be considered contributing factors to a possible diagnosis for depression: he was very recently fired from a lucrative position at his place of employ, his live-in partner then broke up with him and moved out of his house, which he, in turn, sold. Afterwards, he made a stressful trip from America to Scotland at the invitation of his great aunt to come and rest at her home for a while. The pt. insisted that the events were completely unrelated to his 'accident'. In an interview with the patient's relative, she stated that in the two weeks since he had come to stay with her, he ate less than two meals a day and slept in excess of fourteen hours every day. Pt. also refused to leave the house despite her encouragement._
> 
> _Previous assessments done by other members of the psychiatric team have yielded very little in the way of definitive diagnoses and interpretations of the pt. presenting symptoms._
> 
> _The client appears to be emotionally stable, but how much of this is a cover for his true emotional state remains to be seen. Until his true emotional condition can be properly assessed, attempted suicide cannot be completely ruled out. It is to be said that he is functioning well considering the recent hardships he has suffered._
> 
> _To follow up with a more in depth interview. The goal is to establish rapport with the pt. and garner trust, so that the pt. will be as forthcoming as possible about the events of September 13th. Depending on what is revealed by the pt., there will be further plans made according to assessment and diagnosis._

 

Horst signs and dates the bottom of the page, then places it inside of a new file folder. He sets it neatly atop his desk. Reaching into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes, he looks out the window at the cloudy sky. Its grey dullness seeps into the room and colors everything with dolor. How many years has he gone on like this, here in this tiny office and down in the sad empty space of the group counseling room, treating people who can no longer take being in the world? Were things so grey, even before he had moved here from Denmark?

His professional focus in psychiatry had always been the same...ever since his father had taken his own life...and his dog's... But he used to feel different about suicide and depression. He felt ambitious and hopeful, then. He was motivated once to find out what had happened with his father, and to help the families of others going through what he had once felt – but now...He shakes the thought and proceeds to light his cigarette. After just one puff, there is a knock at the door.

He looks down at his wrist, pulling the sleeve up to properly view his brown leather wristwatch. Whoever it is, is unexpected, or very early. He crushes the stick of tobacco into an ashtray tucked into his drawer, gets up and cracks open the window, before going to the door to see who it is.

He turns the door handle and brings his eyes up to meet aquamarine sun and the pleasant arrangement of an ivory smile. "Hello, Dr. Horst. I'm early – sorry." Grigg reaches a hand in through the cracked door, enthusiastically, for a shake. Horst mirrors his smile and returns the greeting, relishing the skin to skin contact the gesture has provided. He maintains strong eye contact with Grigg, taking in his handsome features. He keeps shaking.... he's holding onto the hand shake a little bit too long... And then, Horst panics. He shoves Grigg's hand back through the small opening and shuts the door. He turns quickly, his back flush against the door, and breathes in and out quickly to steady himself.

Grigg faces the white wood of the office door, his eyebrows raised in perplexion. "Dr. Horst....?"

Horst shuts his eyes tight, embarrassed. "Mr. Harris...please come back at your appointed time. I'm sorry..." _Shit. Why does he always do this?_

Horst is very good at what he does. His professionalism has been seldom questioned. But things shift when it comes to interpersonal socializing, especially when he, or either, or both parties of the exchange are behaving in an overtly emotional way. He can be so painfully awkward at times, that he'd rather just avoid it completely. His previous relationship with Nurse Sophie had ended that way...she was always so upset after he'd been antisocial at dinners and her friends' parties... and she was always pressuring him to make grand romantic gestures and commitments. He didn't like being forced. Didn't feel like he could give her what she wanted. Like she would have the patience to let him come around to things... So things ended.

And now here he is absolutely smitten with a handsome American who had supposedly just tried to kill himself. He should not be feeling this way. Mr. Harris is a patient and nothing more. There should be no attraction or romance between them. It was unprofessional and most definitely not helpful for his patient, who was in a difficult position and needed help out of it. The psychologist swallows hard. He must distance himself psychologically, now, or there will be nothing productive to come of this. He has already set an unfortunate tone with his bungling, so how can he earn Grigg's trust now? He lets out a big sigh.

As per his usual manner, Grigg answers in an understanding and upbeat voice, "I knew I shouldn't have come so early! No problem, doctor, I'll be back at one o'clock, sharp...I just..." And then Horst can hear him placing something with weight against the door on the floor, "I just brought some sandwiches I thought you might want to share. My great aunt brought them. There are too many for me to finish alone. Please help yourself."

Horst can hear his footsteps move away from the door. Exclamation marks fill his mind. _'Catch him before it's too late,'_ his brain screams. And before he can give it a second thought, he rips open the door, picks up the basket of sandwiches at his feet, inspecting it for just a moment, and shouts after Grigg. "Mr. Harris!!!!!"

At that moment, as if by some miracle, the sky has apparently cleared, and the sun, which now fills the sky with warmth and life, shines strongly through an etched glass pane in the hallway window, right onto the section of space where Grigg has stopped, as he turns back to face Dr. Horst's voice. It is so bright that it is obscures half of his face in white, and illuminates his brunette crown of curls to shine golden. He is dressed in a patient's hospital garment, like pajama tops and bottoms, with his favorite brown corduroy blazer worn on top to keep out the autumn chill, and his hands are placed in the pockets. And then he smiles wide, and Horst is completely done for.

 

So much for psychological distancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please refer to [this](http://www.asha.org/uploadedFiles/slp/healthcare/Medicalabbreviations.pdf) page for all medical abbreviations used in Horst's progress notes. Excuse any inaccuracy, as it has been many years since my very rudimentary education in psychology. Psych majors, feel free to rip me a new one! It was mostly a vehicle for exposition, rather than to reflect medical accuracy, anyway.


	2. Grigg Asks For Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of emails between Grigg and his big sister.

* * *

 

 _Sent: Monday, September 20th at 6:00 AM_  
_From: "Grigg Harris" gharris75@mail.com_  
_To: "Bianca Sillman" docsillman@mail.com_  
_Subject: HELP???_

_I need your advice! Remember that psychologist I told you about? Reticent. Brooding. Intense cheekbones? I was thinking of asking him to dinner sometime, but I don't know if it's really a smart idea...I mean he seems interested – I always catch him watching me in group when he thinks I'm not looking. And yesterday, when we had our first one-on-one session, he was extremely awkward (but it was actually endearing)…It's just that it hasn't been very long since Jocelyn... Also, he IS my DOCTOR._

_But I'm lonely._

_And he is very handsome._

_And maybe if he likes me enough he'll let me out of this fucking place!_

_IT'S WORTH A SHOT RIGHT???_

_-Grigg_

 

* * *

 

 _Sent: Monday, September 20th at 6:23 AM_  
_From: "Bianca Sillman" docsillman@mail.com_  
_To: "Grigg Harris" gharris75@mail.com_  
_Subject: RE: HELP???_

_Dear brother! Let me preface this by saying it is never good for doctors and patients to date (that also being said I know personally of five colleagues who ended up marrying former patients). I don't know what really to tell you? This whole situation is so extremely bizarre, I still can't wrap my head around how your Scottish Getaway turned into One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest in two weeks!_

_Tell me what has happened since you two first became acquainted._

  
_I KNOW YOU – BE DETAILED!_

_Then I'll dole out the advice._

_Besides what else have you got to do in there?_

_-Bee_

_P.S. Are you just wanting to date him to curry favor and be discharged? Or are you legitimately interested in pursuing some romance?_

 

* * *

 

Grigg is in a ward with three other men. Their beds are usually cordoned off with curtains for some semblance of privacy, but it tends to make the space too dark in the mornings, hence, they open them to share what little Scottish sun comes in through the windows.

He is sitting on his bed with his knees up nearly to his chest so that they can balance the keyboard case he's got attached to his iPad. He starts typing out his reply to his older sister, then takes in a deep breath and recalls the past several days. Nibbling on the edge of a thumb, he tries to sift out the important details from the insignificant. It is a daunting task, for so much has happened and his mind is a chaotic mess of emotions. He focuses on what evidence there is to interpret – of stolen glances and muted body language, of the hidden meanings behind gestures, and the notes of emotion that betray a speaker's words. He begins typing...

 

* * *

 

 _Sent: Monday, September 20th at 8:10 AM_  
_From: "Grigg Harris" gharris75@mail.com_  
_To: "Bianca Sillman" docsillman@mail.com_  
_Subject: RE: RE: HELP???_

_DETAILED? You know how much I hate typing long emails..._

_Well, I didn't really meet Dr. Horst until my fourth day here, after the seventy-two hour observation period, when I had my first day in group therapy. I remember I came in and he didn't take any notice of me – of anyone actually, he was just sitting in a chair off to the side, listening, with his eyes closed – until I was standing up and introducing myself. I had already been in the room a whole forty minutes, listening to the others, because I was too upset to talk at the beginning of group, and he never once took a glance at me._

_But, maybe my American accent grabbed his attention, because after I said my name and what I did for a living, his eyes suddenly shot open and he looked at me – you should've seen the way he looked at me Bee, I've never seen anyone look at me like that before, like...like he had just seen a new kind of species of being or something; it was very intense - and we made eye contact and then he just got up and went over to the window. And he stayed like that the whole rest of the time._

_In retrospect, I suppose I only really noticed all of this because I must have been watching him, too._

_His face is quite striking. Hard not to stare at it. And he has a very particular way of moving, something graceful, but anyway..._

_I went on to tell everyone that it wasn't a suicide attempt and that it was all a big misunderstanding. I started to go into the facts of why what I did could not be misconstrued as a suicide attempt but the doctors cut me off. "Indulging delusions of what you did might feel good to you, but they are not doing the group any good in coming to terms with their actions and the effects they have on others," and whatnot. Nobody believed me, Bee. They looked at me like I was a liar just trying to get out so I could go home and off myself the first chance I got...and he just stayed by the window._

_That was the first day._

_The next day of group, I was feeling really shitty, because I had had an interview with one of the other doctors of the psychiatric team (you know they do team-based treatments here? It's never just you on a sofa talking to a shrink who handles your entire case) who was a complete tool and didn't want to listen to anything I had to say about my accident and why I shouldn't be here at all and...ugh, so I just went into group with that kind of mood. I go in and he's by the window. The minutes tick by and he never engages anyone, and then there's this one guy, Wayne, and he's talking about how upset he is about his girlfriend and her infidelity and how it was a big part of why he attempted to kill himself, and he's going on and on about her and how she's his and doesn't belong to anyone else and how dare she share her body with another person and I just had to say something._

_I was quoting Le Guin at him! Remember The Dispossessed? You always loved that one... Well, about halfway through my rant about commodified eroticism and how nobody owns anyone and if he just looked at it that way he'd just feel a million times better about it (and let's face it, just about everyone could benefit from a little bit of an anarchistic approach to sexuality) the doctor leading group was called out and Horst took her seat._

_He listened so intently, Bee. He does this thing where he sort of, I don't know, purses his lips and nods along in agreement. It's very reassuring...And after, he agreed with my points and encouraged Wayne to take this new viewpoint into consideration. It was very...supportive? It just felt nice to have someone take what I had to say seriously for once since I got here and to respond positively to it. He wouldn't make eye contact with me, though. I felt like he was exerting effort to do so. That means something right?_

_Look at this, it's turning into a novel already..._

_ANYWAY!_

_Yesterday, when we had group, he was leading from the get-go. He invited me to speak first. I didn't want to, but he had this way of talking that just got me to agree. And later I began to reveal things – he's very good at this, even you would have admitted some deep dark secrets had you been there – and I end up telling him and the group what happened with Jocelyn and the house and my job and why I came here and...it felt good. But I was also a bit displeased with myself giving that kind of information away, because it just made things look all the more worse for coming to the conclusion that I'm depressed and that I want to kill myself. I wasn't mad at Dr. Horst. He was just doing his job. I was mad at myself for not being more careful, I suppose._

_After group, Great Aunt Bertie came by for a visit. I didn't want to speak with her because it's all her fault I'm in here. She brought me a big basket of sandwiches that she left at the end of my bed, the sweet old thing, and there were just way too many for me to eat alone, so, I thought, why not just pop in an hour early to my appointment with the handsome doctor. Share some sandwiches. Get to know him outside of a clinical setting..._

_He shut the door in my face when I got there. It was very weird. And cute. I could sense him panicking?_

_As I was walking away, though, he called me back and we ended up in his office. Eating sandwiches in awkward silence. Occasionally commenting on the quality of the sandwiches. The sudden change in weather. Everytime we'd make eye contact, he did this thing where he'd begin to open his mouth to say something and then...he'd just shove in another fucking sandwich and look at the desk and chew and chew. Breadcrumbs everywhere!_

_We had a proper session afterwards. He was very keen to know more about Jocelyn and our breakup._

_That's it so far._

_We have another session scheduled after lunch._

_Should I flirt? Broach the subject of dinner? Is it too soon?_

_Help your little brother out!_

_-Grigg_

_P.S. It is a genuine mixture of both. I am enamoured. And I want to get the fuck out of here._

 

* * *

 

Having sent his email off, Grigg is feeling satisfied. He looks over at the warm light seeping through the dreary windows. Then, there is a knock on the eating table at the foot of his hospital bed.

"Dr. Horst?" Grigg is surprised to find his psychologist standing there.

Horst looks down at the floor, avoiding eye contact, as always. "I thought today we could talk, just you and I, before group comes around..."

Grigg smiles. Horst sees.

"The garden isn't very nice but...it's much better than my office."

"Lead the way doctor."

Grigg gets out of bed to put on his sneakers and blazer. Horst nonchalantly lends his hand to help him out of bed. Grigg feels a jolt of sensation at the contact and looks Horst in the eye, and then Horst smiles and drags his thumb across the smooth plains of Grigg's palm without thinking.


	3. In the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the hospital garden, Grigg gets the chance to tell Horst the truth of his accident.

Dr. Horst holds the door to the garden open for Grigg, acutely studying his brown curls as they bounce past. He gestures with an outstretched hand to an empty cement bench, its white paint long weathered and beginning to chip away, where Grigg sits down and then pats beside for Horst to sit down, too. Horst grins to himself and looks at the ground as he sits, afraid to let Grigg see just how pleased he is at such a small gesture. For the first few moments, they both look around at the scenery – anywhere except at each other – trying to fill the silence with the busy movements of their heads. 

The hospital garden is situated just outside the psych building, at the edge of the property. It is bordered by a chain linked fence that keeps people from falling down the steep hill that overlooks the main building's parking lot situated below. Since the area is elevated, the view is expansive. All of the quiet Scottish town can be seen in three directions. Appreciating it is entirely optional, though. 

Horst pulls a cigarette out of the pack in his jacket pocket to light. He offers one to Grigg, who refuses politely with an out-turned palm and the gentle shaking of his head. The breeze blows cold with Autumn chill. Grigg doesn't know what to say. After a moment, he goes to open his mouth, but Horst, looking away and smoking, begins before he can get an awkward sound out. 

"Let's say I give you the chance to explain to me fully why what happened to you was an accident. I would like to listen, and get to the bottom of things." He takes another drag and exhales. "Thanks to our time together yesterday, I feel as though I know you a little bit better, and...and I think I'll be able to help you now, if you just tell me..." As he hesitates with his words, notes of emotion leak through that Horst has trouble concealing. Grigg picks up on something, but it remains ambiguous in his mind as his own feelings of surprise and appreciation overwhelm him. 

Grigg looks at the back of Dr. Horst's head, hoping he will return his glance so that he'll have an opportunity to read into his expression and gauge just how serious he's being. 

Not a single person has suggested that they were willing to consider his version of the truth as valid since he got here. 

Not a single one. 

He looks down at his hands folded into each other in his own lap then, a feeling of warm happiness and vindication tugging at the corners of his lips to move upward with a subtle but surprised urge. He looks around too, at the dead and brown grass carpeting the area, pockmarked with small dirt holes where bored feet once dug sad divots. Everything is muddy and sullen, and yet, he feels just fine. A comfortable warmth wraps all around him. _'It must be the pleasant company I'm with,'_ he muses. Then, he organizes his thoughts, and prepares to convince Horst – he must; this feels like his best chance at getting out, and he also wants oh so much for this man to believe him. Believe in him. 

His fingers tinker with themselves, folded as they are. "I didn't try to kill myself Dr. Horst. It was a stupid, stupid accident. A result of my own busied carelessness." Grigg lets out a deep sigh. 

Then, he's ready to give it all he's got and get right into it: He shifts his knees to point at Horst's own, Grigg's abdomen following after. His elbows bend at ninety degree angles to point his hands at Horst as he begins gesturing along with his words. Horst loves the way they move to mimic the verbs of his sentences every time he speaks. He loves his vivacity and enthusiasm. Grigg could not have hoped for a more receptive party to his plea for belief and for freedom. 

"You see, I was just taking a bath and then, I heard the Skype ringtone coming from my laptop. It was on top of the bed, and I could see the screen from the doorway..." Grigg casts his eyes down to the dirt at their feet, "It was Jocelyn and I..I know I shouldn't have cared but it was my gut instinct to get out and grab it and answer her call." Grigg begins to get a bit emotional recalling his vulnerability on that day. 

Horst puts a hand gently on the edge of his knee, as if asking for permission to interrupt. Grigg consents with rheumy eyes and upturned brows that meet his. "Why do you say that you shouldn't have cared about answering her call?" Horst tilts his head in genuine curiosity to wait for Grigg's answer. 

"As you know, I feel the way that she ended things was quite incompassionate and more than a bit disrespectful. My sisters have all encouraged me not to indulge any of her future attempts to communicate with me, as she tends to ask for favors and I just end up being left emotionally drained..." 

Horst grins with one of the corners of his lips peaked up, "Seems like sound advice." 

Nodding, Grigg agrees, "Yeah, they usually know what they're talking about when it comes to these things." 

"Please continue, Mr. Harris." 

Grigg looks at him then, really looks. "Call me Grigg, please, Doctor." He feels vulnerable again, but in a good way. 

"Okay...Grigg." 

Horst has to shift his eyes to the ground then, in an effort to hide his blush. Grigg _does_ catch this. It's something small, but it fills him with happy prospect. He sighs and closes his eyes, forcing the excess moisture in them to dribble out of the corners. He wipes it away. Then he goes on. 

"Well, I got out of the shower, ran over and sat down on the bed to answer her call. Immediately, I noticed that the low battery light had come on, so I asked her to hold on for a second while I plugged it in with the very shitty power cord lent to me by Great Aunt Bertie, since mine didn't fit in the power socket and I had neglected to buy an adapter beforehand. I mean, this thing was poorly kept together with electrical tape at a lot of points along it's length. I remember it being worst at the junction where the adapter plugs into the laptop itself, where I guess my hand was placed at the time I was electrocuted, since that's where the burn marks were. Anyway, I plugged it in and got to talking to her for a bit when suddenly I heard water flowing onto the floor. I peeked into the bathroom and sure enough, I had forgotten to turn off the tap." 

Horst listens intently. Grigg goes on, his words painting a vivid picture. In his mind's eye, the psychiatrist recreates the scene in a slow motion sequence, as Grigg describes what happens next. 

He can hear the slow, flat patter of water spilling onto the tiled floor (it glistens from wetness in the florescent light of the bathroom, foreshadowing the precarious situation Grigg unwittingly put himself in, the terrible combination of electricity and wetness) from the ivory lip of an old ceramic bathtub. He sees a nude and flustered Grigg dashing in from the adjacent room and coming up to the edge of the tub to reach out to turn off the spigot still pouring out. The power cord pulls taut suddenly, as Grigg looks back at it to find that it stops just short of allowing him to comfortably touch the tap. So, keeping the laptop where it is, with his arm straight out and his body scooting closer toward the tub, Grigg maintains his grip on the corner, wrapping his palm around the right angle and around the join of the power cord and power unit to keep it in, with his longer fingers fanned underneath for support, as the other hand reaches and reaches but just can't quite make it to properly grip and turn off the water. 

Grigg looks down. The edge of the bathtub is now further obstructing him. 

He doesn't want to disconnect the call. Jocelyn keeps asking for him. _'What are you doing, Grigg??'_ He calls out for her to wait a minute, feeling rushed. 

Without thinking, he places one foot into the full tub and leans his body toward the tap. The shift changes the angle of the battered power cord, and in a small but horrible instant exposes the live wires inside to the naked flesh of Grigg's palm. Grigg's foot is placed fortuitously atop the metal drain at the bottom, completing the circuit from electrical outlet to power cord to skin to metal drainage pipes and into the ground beneath the house. 

The shock is enough to burn Grigg and to throw his musculature out of whack, so that he easily slips and bashes his head back against the unforgiving solidity of his great aunt's antique bathtub. 

Dr. Horst sees it so clearly, and he doubts nothing, and he feels so much sympathy. _Poor Grigg! Locked up in here and treated like a liar! He's got to be released immediately, before the grey steals his light, too._ He looks at Grigg then, doe-eyed and gentle, and he takes his hands into his own without thinking, grasping them firmly, and with conviction. "I believe you, Grigg. And it's time for you to get out of here." 

Grigg lets out a wispy laugh, hardly believing that it could finally be that easy. Relief comes over him, like a consoling breeze blowing through his hair and around his head. He grasps Dr. Horst's hands back, maintaining eye contact. "Thank you, Doctor. I'm so glad to hear that. I'm definitely ready to go home....I've been ready since I got out of the ER." 

Horst realizes how intimate the moment has become and quickly withdraws his hands. He turns his body to face forward and looks out at the empty sky. "I will have a word with the director as soon as group has finished. I encourage you to go in order to keep up the appearance of compliance. Be cheery and positive. It will help your case." 

Grigg's cheeks are warm with hope. "Okay, Dr. Horst. I will do as you ask. It won't take much...I'm so happy, now. Thanks to you." 

They look at each other and everything feels fine.


End file.
